


I Need Some Love, Loving

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Yixing is here, now, where he belongs





	I Need Some Love, Loving

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 fic

When Sehun awakens, it's to the lazy crawl of Yixing's fingers along his collarbone, warm and callused and meandering, and Sehun exhales slowly, murmurs his name in a question. He's still in that milky area in between consciousness and slumber. Lethargic, with sleep still dusting his eyelashes, fogging his mind, he arches back out of instinct towards the familiar heat of Yixing's body, pressing his back flush against Yixing's chest. The elder rumbles in approval, and Sehun can feel it vibrate even through the cotton of his shirt. A groggy, cursory glance at his bedside alarm reveals that it's 2:35 AM. Yixing just got home.

Yixing's been working late nights for the past couple of weeks, picking up extra shifts at the bar. He's been trying to pay off his student loans, fund his musical composition dreams by playing even _later_ night shows in smoky clubs, with his guitar slung over his shoulder and his heart on his sleeve. He's got the voice of a lover, the heart of a poet; he sings of aching, _bleeding_ for his love, heart imploding from the sheer _heaviness_ of it. Intimate, poetic, beautiful—local bloggers praise—Zhang Yixing, _his_ Zhang Yixing sings all the exquisitely beautiful, vulnerable things that Sehun can't quite articulate. All the things he needs. All the things he's found. All the things he feels, too. And Sehun wants for him, wants so fucking badly, but their bed feels so empty, so cold without him on those nights.

 

And Sehun doesn't want his words.

Sehun wants the warm pressure on Yixing's side of the bed. Sehun wants the taste of his mouth in the early dawn. Sehun wants the lingering smell of Yixing's aftershave against his pillow. Sehun wants the comforting rumble of Yixing full-bodied laugh. Sehun wants the scrape of his teeth against Sehun's goose bumped skin. Sehun wants Yixing's pillow-creased cheeks, his sleep-tousled hair. And Sehun wants the lazy crawl of his fingers at 2:35 AM.

Sehun wants a Yixing that loves him with his presence. Not just words. Never just his words.

 

But Yixing's here now. He's here. And _this_ is love, Sehun thinks absently, head rolling back, nuzzling into the heat of Yixing's body. Shared space, intertwined lives, warm fingers, soft touches, Yixing here, Yixing now, Yixing where he _belongs_.

Sehun catches one of his wrists, drags Yixing's palm flat against his chest, and Yixing hooks one elbow around Sehun's ribs to tug him even closer, breathe hot along the nape of his neck.

"I missed you," Yixing murmurs, nose cold and voice rough as he snuggles into him. "You're so warm. _So warm_."

Yixing fits one toned, denimed thigh between his, and Sehun exhales shakily. And Yixing's fingers continue their crawl, along his clothed chest, pausing just briefly at his bellybutton; they tease over the hemline of his shirt, drag across the waistband of his sweats.

"Yixing," Sehun breathes.

Yixing acknowledges him with a hum, pressing forward to kiss distractingly along his neck. His lips are warm, tender, lazy even as his fingers become increasingly bold, fingernails scraping over his hipbones, ghosting over his boxers. Sehun trembles in his hold.

"Yixing," Sehun groans.

Yixing's nose drags along Sehun's shoulder blade, a weak spot that has lazy tingles concentrating southward, and Sehun retaliates by snaking his arm back to slither over the nape of Yixing's neck, as he grinds backward. The older gasps and tenses, and Sehun repeats the action, breathless. Yixing is already halfway hard, and the knowledge makes a sudden moan catch in Sehun's throat.

"I sang about you," Yixing whispers, hotly, rolling his hips forward, "and I missed you. I _wanted_ you." He bucks forward insistently, and Sehun grinds back more purposefully with a breathless moan.

Sehun shivers, blinks, moans as Yixing's left hand stops playing coy, slides down to cup him fully. He rolls his head back, knocking against Yixing's forehead. The elder laughs, and Sehun sucks his lower lip into his mouth. "I have to be up in 4 hours," he chokes out, briefly responsible. Even as Yixing's fingers flutter at where the head of his cock is straining against his boxers. "The shuttle—class—I have—" He writhes forward into the pressure of Yixing's hand, backward into the roll of his hips.

"Did you miss me, too?"

Sehun nods slowly, drunkenly. "Always…always…"

"Do you want me, too?"

Sehun exhales shakily as he rolls over to face him. Pliant, eager, long limbs demanding, he drags Yixing even closer. Yixing slots their bodies together, fingertips ghosting across Sehun's hipbones in a caress that has Sehun whining softly for more.

And for the first time that night—for the first time in a week, so long, _too_ long—Yixing kisses him. And it feels like finding himself anew, feels like coming home. Soft hands cradling his face, Yixing kisses him slow and hard and deep, but tender, tender, tender. And Sehun wants to spend forever in the slickness of his mouth, in the heavy embrace of his arms. Yixing rubs his fingers over his scalp, grinds forward to press against him _hard_.

By the time Sehun comes up for air, he's reeling.

And Yixing's eyes look soft in the neon green glow of their alarm clock, and he makes every caress feel like a confession, an affirmation.

At those shows, in front of those lovelorn strangers, he's voiced sentimentality. He makes their love something cosmic and tragically beautiful, and Sehun's heart collapses under the weight, the beauty of his words. But what matters—matters most—is the here, the _now_ , actions speaking louder than words. The way Yixing's hands, his lips, his hips are proving proving proving. _Devastating_ , reducing him to needy whimpers and trembling skin, Sehun gasping with the knowledge that he's needed, missed, wanted, loved.

And Yixing—ever soft, ever warm, ever tender, everything that Sehun could ever hope for or need—is especially perfect in these moments. Passionate, earnest, beautiful. All disconcerting, sleepy enthusiasm, unfettered passion as he licks along his mouth, rocks his erection into him.

Sehun whimpers, overwhelmed. At the delicious friction, the perfect rhythm, Yixing rasping his name in a moaned mantra between every fluid thrust forward. Yixing holds Sehun's body close, urges his hips against him hard hard hard. Sehun's hand scramble for purchase, twist into the fabric of Yixing's cotton shirt.

"I love you," Yixing moans."So much."

Sehun presses his face tight to his chest. Beneath the stench of stale beer, cigarettes, there's that something warm and musky and comforting and _Yixing_ , that something like home. Sehun inhales deeply, writhes forward even harder because he wants Yixing all over his skin, saturating his pores. He wants to smell of him for _days_ , know that he belongs only to him.

And he can taste Yixing's heartbeat, feel the hitch in his breath as Sehun drags desperately against the outline of his cock, whispers hotly into his skin.

And Sehun's almost tempted to pretend that he's content with this, grinding against Yixing until he comes, but the need is deeper, the spark awakened. " _Fuck_ me" he urges, careless and husky, and he can feel the plump ridges of Yixing's lips, dragging along his forehead, curling in a smile.

Yixing pulls back to look at him, and Sehun presses on his dimple. Yixing's smile softens.

"I'll do all the work," Yixing promises, solemn, soft, shaky, slurred. His eyes are glazed, and his accent is more pronounced. And it only serves to arouse Sehun further. Because _God_ Yixing is affected and _God_ Yixing only looks like this, sounds like this when he's making _art_. With strums of his fingertips against guitar strings, with strokes of his fingers on the canvas of Sehun's trembling body.

Yixing kisses him again and somewhere along the way Sehun loses his breath. Somewhere along the way Sehun loses his clothes.

And surrender is easy when Yixing knows how to play his body best. Callused, slicked fingers urging their way inside as Sehun hooks his legs around Yixing's waist, whimpers as he's stretched open. Sehun's tongue is thick, his eyes heavy-lidded, his moans soft as Yixing works him open.

"Yixing," he groans, arching towards every purposeful press, hips bucking, eyebrows creasing as he moans. "Please, Yixing, _please_."

And Yixing is here, now, where he _belongs_ , as he slides into him with a breathless, breathtaking push. Sehun quivers as he's claimed, fucked, cradled tight.

Through a thin layer of latex, he can feel Yixing throb inside of him as he grinds his hips, breathes heavy into his ear.

Sehun wraps his thighs around Yixing's waist, locking his ankles behind his back and meeting his eyes in the darkness of their room. Yixing's eyebrows knit together, and his lower lip catches between his teeth. He's soft and beautiful in his pleasure.

And Sehun is so fucking _full_. The stretch, the pleasure is exquisite.

"Yixing," he whimpers, and the elder smiles, soft, pressed tight to his skin as he pulls back— _achingly_ slow—only to push back in _hard_.

Yixing starts an easy pace. Slow, but deep, heaving. Sehun's fingers latch onto his bare shoulder blades. He uses them to gain leverage, bucking up towards Yixing's every rock forward.

Sehun's movements are languid, but eager. His mouth is sloppy and needy against Yixing's throat as he pants for more more more. Yixing moans as Sehun's tongue traces over his Adam's apple.

Yixing secures his hips, guides them upwards, as he angles purposefully, precise. His cock nudges Sehun's prostrate with every heavy thrust and oh _fuck_. Sehun sobs, trembles, canting his hips up, desperate for more.

"I missed you," Yixing repeats, voice raspy, broken. Yixing couples the statement with a thrust forward so forceful that Sehun's bare back scrapes against their sheets and his head falls back with a filthy moan.

"Just like— _fuck_."

Yixing repeats the motion, and Sehun matches his movement, catches him on his deep plunge downward as one hand falls from Yixing's back to his own cock. Yixing holds him down, grinds against him. Sehun practically thrashes with pleasure, fist sloppy, stuttering, increasingly frantic as he strokes himself.

Yixing shifts Sehun's legs, up near his chest, so Sehun's folded in half, desperate and restricted in movement. Yixing replaces Sehun's hand with his own, leaning down heavily to suck at his jawline as he fucks forward _hard_ , _deep_. "I promised I'd do all the work," he reminds him, smiling lazily even as he drives into him, intent, urgent, _hot_.

Sehun just lays back and _takes_. With needy whines, breathless whimpers, broken chants of Yixing's name, as Yixing looms over him, one hand on Sehun's hip, the other on his cock, _working_ in the most delicious way.

"I'm gonna come," Sehun whimpers. "I wanna come.

"I want it, too."

Sehun's response catches in his throat, morphs into a breathy moan as Yixing continues to thrust. And Yixing is the anchor through the maelstrom of overwhelming pleasure then. Through the wave and waves of inundating pleasure, Yixing secures him. He rasps his name, snapping into him, drawing it out. And it keeps building, and Sehun can't can't can't.

He comes into Yixing's fist, undulating, dragging Yixing down by the roots of his hair to pant into his open mouth as he bucks through it. And Yixing is there to soothe him through it, whisper into his hair as he grinds to completion, suddenly slow, soft, steady. Sehun rocks back, clenches deliberately to help Yixing along. He can feel him pulse inside him, quiver through his own climax.

Sehun hums sleepily as he rolls on his side, drags Yixing to wrap his arms around him. Yixing laughs softly, blowing cool over Sehun's sweaty skin as Sehun shivers against him. Yixing's teeth scrape along his hairline as his lips drag in a languid caress, left to right, right to left. "Don't—don't leave," Sehun whispers, voice still shaky, still raw. Yixing hums against his skin, continues the caress.

And _this_ is love, Sehun thinks, breathing slow in the aftermath, the afterglow. Yixing here. Yixing now. Yixing pressed tight, pressed warm, in their bed, where he _belongs_.

When Sehun falls asleep it's to the lazy crawl of Yixing's fingers along his collarbone, warm and callused and meandering.


End file.
